I'm baaaaack!
Hello, lovely people, I hope you have had an excellent month. Mine was very productive; Double or Despair is now just shy of 57k words longer than it was on November first thanks to NaNoWriMo, with 5 whole chapters finished! And you know what that means - semi-regular updates! I will aim for one new chapter each weekend until the backlog runs out, although as we get towards the wonderful Christmas season my time may be rather taken up with festive celebrations, so please excuse me if I miss one or two.
For now, let's see how our girl is recovering from her crazy night out!
Glitterb x
Chapter 5: Cheater
"You should head home, Bella," McKayla said, avoiding my gaze as she moved around the counter. I wondered if the coldness in her voice was leftover irritation from last night or if it had been going on for a while without me noticing.
It wasn't long after lunch, and I still had several hours of my shift left, but the whole day had been slow at Newton's. Right now, there were only two people in the store besides McKayla and I; based on the conversation I could overhear and the solid hour they had just spent having her go over all the features of our backpack selection, they were pretty serious long-distance hikers. But they'd gotten distracted sharing trail stories, each one more outlandish than the last, and McKayla had managed to escape.
"I can stay," I told her, trying to sound convincingly keen to stick around and help. In all honesty, I was still feeling raw after everything from the night before. I hadn't managed to get the haze back in place yet, and without that barrier of numbness, everything seemed too bright and too loud. One of the men burst out laughing, and it felt like someone was stabbing my ears with toothpicks.
"No, seriously," his companion insisted, his voice like sandpaper against my fragile nerves. "This thing was huge. I've seen Yellowstone grizzlies bigger than you that would look skinny next to this thing. It had to be almost tall as a horse." The man had dark brown hair and a ginger beard, both of them matted and unkempt. His clothes were well-cared for but had obviously been on him for a few days, and there was mud on his sturdy boots; he had most likely come straight here after getting off the mountain.
The other was equally weather worn, his skin tan and wind-burned, his lean build speaking to many hours and days spent on the hike. He scoffed, clearly sceptical. "Man, I don't know what kind of mushrooms you've been munching on out there, but I'm telling you, black bears don't get that big. Are you sure those grizzlies in Yellowstone weren't cubs?"
"As soon as I get rid of these two, I'm closing up," McKayla grumbled. "Really, you should go. I can handle them on my own."
"If you're sure you don't need me…" I felt a twinge of guilt; after yesterday, she probably just didn't want to have to deal with me anymore.
"I swear," the bearded man went on, his voice seeming to echo around my head as I gathered my things and hung up my vest. "It had to be taller than you, and that was on all fours. Pitch black, too, like some kind of demon. And I didn't even see it up the mountain – I was on my way back into town here, just a few miles from the trailhead. I'm going to put in a report with the local rangers, the people around here ought to be warned."
The tan one chuckled again. "Oh, well, if you were on your way in, that explains it. No real food and sleeping on the ground for days… it can mess with your head, no matter how much experience you've got."
"Hey," the bearded man called, turning to the two of us. "Either of you girls heard anything about black bears out in the woods? Ranger Station put out any warnings or anything like that?"
I shook my head, trying to surreptitiously move towards the door.
"No, sir," McKayla said, dropping into her practiced customer service voice. "But of course, you should always keep your distance and store your food properly. We have some bear-safe food canisters that just came in, they're only two pounds and very reasonably priced."
She moved to play saleswoman again, and I used the distraction to make my escape, only feeling a little guilty about not saying goodbye properly.
I had the truck today, and once I was safely ensconced in the cabin, I began debating what to do next. The pounding of the rain on the roof was painfully loud, so I turned on the engine and cranked up the heat to try and drown it out.
I didn't really want to go back to the house; Charlie was at work, but it was possible that Beau would be home by now, and a Dad-free house would give him complete freedom to interrogate me about my evening out if he wanted to. Not to mention that my new awareness had made last night particularly brutal, so I was almost instinctively shying away from my room. Even after the pain had faded enough for me to sleep, the nightmare I'd been expecting had shown up and ripped me open all over again.
Every night, it was exactly the same. One might think that after the same thing happening so often, I might have found a way to head it off and stop it from getting so bad. But the only way it ended was with me screaming myself awake. I knew I must be disturbing the boys, but they no longer came to check on me; they had realised no one had broken in to attack me. Despite my newfound resistance to the pain in my waking hours, the dream remained stubbornly terrifying.
Weirdly enough, it wasn't even what was happening in the dream that was scaring me so badly. In fact, there was nothing in my nightmare that anyone else would find even remotely frightening. No ghosts, no monsters, no murderers. Nothing jumping out from dark corners. Nothing like the horror of the night after my birthday. Yet perhaps this nightmare had grown out of that one, because in both of them I was hurrying through densely packed trees out in the forest, no path to show me the way and only a bare minimum of light to see by. But that ever-present growl was gone, replaced by a dead silence that was just as disconcerting, like a physical force pressing on my ears and giving me a headache. I was no longer running from an unseen threat, but searching for something, the frantic panic building as I found nothing and nothing and nothing, no matter how far or fast I ran. Eventually there would come a point when I realised that the nothing was more complete than I realised – that there was in fact nothing to search for and nothing to find. That all my effort was entirely in vain. Even knowing it would come, I could never wake myself up in time to avoid it.
That was usually about when I started screaming.
With no other course of action, I started driving aimlessly around town, keeping to the side streets and trying not to take any turn that would lead me further towards home (or the library, just in case). It should probably have bothered me more that I didn't have anywhere else to go.
Last night I had almost celebrated being so alert, so able to hear his voice, but now I wanted my numbness back. Everything around me was too bright, too loud, too present. Not to mention my nightmare was making me think about memories I didn't want to linger on. I could happily banish all thoughts of forests from my mind forever, but that didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon. Even now, as I tried desperately not to think about it, the edges of the hole in my chest were stinging again, bringing tears to my eyes with the pain. I risked taking one hand off the steering wheel to wrap my arm around me, trying vainly to keep the hole closed.
It will be as if I never existed at all. It wasn't the clear voice of my hallucination that I heard now, just the vague, soundless echoes of words imperfectly remembered, like recalling a quote from a book. They were only words, not him, not an actual memory of him, but they tore through my chest like the letters were made of barbed wire. The hole was abruptly wide open, and I slammed on the break before the debilitating pain made me lose control of the truck. An accident was the last thing I needed right now. I curled over with my head against the steering wheel, both arms now fruitlessly hugging my torso, desperately trying to breathe without my lungs.
I could only hope that my newfound resistance to the agony would keep building, or that the pain would finally begin to decrease. Maybe one day – many years from now, most likely – I would be able to look back and remember that wonderful time in my life, and it would be only a quiet grief or a bittersweet sting. After all, the time that we had gotten to spend together should be celebrated; I would truly love to be able to relive every moment of it. But the reality where I could do that was still far off, and at this moment, it felt almost impossible that I would ever get there.
But there was also the strong possibility that it never got any better. This could be as strong as I ever got, and this hole could be part of my life until the day I died. What then? How was I supposed to cope with that?
After all, there would always be a connection between us. He couldn't promise that there would be no proof of his existence, not really. Not with everything he had left behind. Not with his sister in the mix. She might not be around as much anymore, but Beau had to still be talking to her. Someday, he was going to vanish from my life; had I never moved here, it would have happened and I would have never known where he had gone. Now I would know exactly what was happening. Did he really think that my family and his could be kept completely apart forever?
And of course, there were the physical proofs. I had pushed his gifts away out of necessity, but I knew where they were. I knew they were within my reach if I wanted them. I had photographs, for crying out loud. What more convincing evidence could there be?
Me. That's what there was. I didn't need my journal or my presents to remember. I was a living testament to his existence, a creature irrevocably changed from having been in contact with him. His leaving had only increased his impact, and my ripped-up insides were now reflected on the outside, too. I was avoiding mirrors whenever I could because I knew what I would see – a wan, pale face, with dark eyes ringed by dark purple circles courtesy of my nightmares. The white and purple were so stark a contrast that the uneducated – and very far away – might even mistake me for a vampire. But I lacked an essential component to be truly convincing; I was nowhere near the ethereal beauty of an immortal, and so I was left with the resemblance to a zombie that I had recognised so sharply last night.
With all of that, how could he ever promise that I could go on with my life as if he never existed? It was true insanity, greater than any hallucination. He couldn't hope to keep the promise – it was broken before he had made it.
Even knowing it wouldn't drown out the pain, I banged my head against the wheel a few times, feeling only a dull throb in my forehead.
Faced with such monumental betrayal, why should I bother even trying to keep my promise? How was it fair for me to be working so hard to be careful and safe when he had nothing to do at all? I should just do whatever I wanted and hang the consequences. Perhaps I should even be reckless on purpose, just to show him.
A sharp laugh, humourless and hollow, burst from me at that thought. Reckless in Forks – now that might actually be impossible.
The sheer ridiculousness of the prospect distracted me enough for the pain to finally ease, and I could breathe a little easier. I sat back, dropping back to one arm around my chest and feeling the prickle of the beads of sweat on my forehead reacting to the cold air.
I followed the train of thought that seemed to lead me away from agony, eager to make my escape. To be reckless in Forks would mean really going out of my way, really trying to find danger. I wasn't sure I had it in me, but I wanted to. If I could just find a way to be foolish, to let go of all of my careful restraint… perhaps I would even feel better. Then all the promises would be truly shattered, and I wouldn't be left hopelessly clinging to an unbalanced bargain. The real question was how to do it – how to find danger in safe, boring little Forks? Once upon a time it wouldn't have been so hard, but now…
My brain felt like it was moving through thick molasses; I couldn't seem to focus long enough to do any proper planning. The monotonous rumbling of the truck's engine as it idled wasn't helping, so I cut it off. I could almost hear it sigh in relief at finally getting to rest. Hoping that perhaps some fresh air would help clear my head, I opened the door and stepped out in to the persistent drizzle.
It worked to an extent; the rain quickly soaked my hair and rinsed the last of the sweat off my forehead, though I had to blink water out of my eyes a few times before I registered where I was.
I'd parked on Russell Avenue heading North, blocking the Cheneys' driveway. I knew I should move the truck and head home before my impaired state got me into an accident. The last thing I needed was for my dad to get called out to a multi-car pileup and find me in the middle of it. As I braced myself to get back into my car and work out the fastest route home, something caught my eye that made me pause. Across the street from the Cheneys lived the Marks family; they had two kids who I knew went to the high school, but I couldn't picture either of them at that moment. What had captured my attention in this moment was the cardboard sign leaning against their mailbox, its letters clearly hand-drawn in black Sharpie that was starting to run in the rain, but which still very clearly read, 'For Sale, As Is' in bold block capitals.
I'd never exactly believed in destiny or the idea of things being offered up by the universe just when they were needed. But it couldn't be denied that the rundown old motorcycles propped up against a pile of trash bags and dead branches were exactly what I had been looking for. Perhaps it was just that I had decided to be reckless, so now I was seeing anything that would help me do that more clearly.
Charlie had very decided opinions about motorcycles – namely, that anyone who rode one was an idiot. Traffic accidents took up a large percentage of his time at work, thanks to the winding roads and often slick asphalt surfaces surrounding town. Not to mention that many of the vehicles were giant logging haulers, and the abundance of freeways and highways saw a lot of people driving way too fast at blind corners or hidden entrances. Most of the car drivers managed to walk away relatively unscathed, but I could remember dozens of incidents, even in my limited time spent here, of my father coming home with the weary sadness that told me another kid on a bike had ended up dashed across the pavement. Beau and I had been forced to promise on multiple occasions that we would never even ride one under any circumstances. It had been an easy promise to make; after all, travelling sixty miles per hour around Forks with the same amount of protection as was typically afforded by a bicycle just seemed like a recipe for getting soaked to the skin, never mind anything else.
Another promise to keep… or to break. Could I do it? Could I betray my father's trust, too?
Yes, I realised. Not only was I able to do it, but I also wanted to. All my life I had been careful and safe and sensible, and where had it got me? Broken and trapped, pitiful and quite possibly insane, if last night was anything to go by. I suddenly craved that recklessness and stupidity, and the sense of freedom that it promised. To not be beholden to anyone but myself.
I was crossing the street and ringing the Markses' doorbell before my logical side could kick in and convince me that I was making a huge mistake.
One of the kids opened the door, the daughter, the youngest. She was a freshman, her sandy blond head only just reaching my shoulder, and seeing her face reminded me that her brother was a friend of Ben's, who I was fairly sure was called Austin. I couldn't remember her name, but she had no trouble summoning up mine.
"Bella Swan?" Her eyes were wide as she looked up at me.
"Hi." I jabbed my thumb back over my shoulder towards the impromptu sales display. "How much for one of the bikes?"
She quirked an eyebrow, looking more confused by the minute. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. How much?"
"You know they don't work, right?"
"I gathered." The sign and their positioning on top of the trash heap had made that clear enough. "I can get them fixed up."
The girl still seemed uncertain, but shrugged. "Honestly, my mom really wants to get rid of them, so you can just take one. They'll only end up on a garbage truck otherwise."
"Are you sure?"
"I can go ask her for you if you want." She started to turn around and head back into the house.
"No!" I said, probably a bit too fervently; the last thing I needed was a parent getting involved and potentially ratting me out to Charlie. "No, I believe you. Thanks."
"No problem. Want some help to get them in your car? They're kind of heavy."
"That would be great. I only need the one, though." One busted up bike would already be a challenge to keep hidden – two was definitely pushing it.
"You might as well take both," the Marks girl insisted. "You could try to strip down the one you don't need for parts."
It was something of a struggle to get the motorcycles into the bed of the truck, even with both of us working together. Still, I thought the slightly smaller one might be just about manageable once I knew what I was doing with it.
"What's your plan with these, anyway?" the girl asked as we got the last bike situated, and I quickly flipped over the spare tarp that Beau kept in the bed so it covered them, just in case. "I mean, they've been cluttering up our garage for years because Dad could never get them working."
"I'll figure something out," I said, trying to sound breezy even as the spectre of practicality began to loom its ugly head over my lovely little thoughtless whim. "Maybe Dowling's can do something with them."
She snorted. "By the time you've paid Dowling to even look at them, you might as well have sold them to the scrap yard."
That I could absolutely believe. Even only living here for just over a year, I knew the horror that was John Dowling and his pricing policy; he was the only professional mechanic in town, and he took full advantage of the lack of competition. People only went to him if their car was physically incapable of making the drive up to Port Angeles. Thankfully, I had never needed his services; despite the truck's advanced age, it had never had any kind of engine trouble since Beau had got it for his birthday last year, assuming you overlooked the constant noise and the fact it couldn't go over fifty-five miles per hour. I knew we had its previous owners to thank for keeping it in such good condition. Bonnie Black hadn't been able to drive it for a while, but her daughter Julia had made sure it stayed in working order.
And just like that, I had my solution; I almost felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner. "Actually, I know someone who builds cars, so I think I'll be okay."
"That's good." She smiled, seeming genuinely pleased. "Well, good luck with them."
She waved as she headed back into the house and I got back into the truck. I didn't want to hang around too much longer, wary of being spotted, but I needed to know where I was going first. I dug my phone out of my schoolbag and scrolled quickly down my contacts. Luckily, both Beau and Charlie were near the top; there was only one name I had to skip over, unfocusing my eyes so I couldn't read it. I'd tried all the numbers already, on one desperate night when the pain had left me particularly delirious. Each call had been met with the same heartless automated voice informing me that the service to that number had been disconnected. Only one had actually rung through, the same robotic voice informing me that the person I was trying to reach was unable to take my call and to leave a message after the tone. I hadn't bothered recording a voicemail, and I'd never gotten a call back from her. Some desperate, unexplainable impulse had kept me from doing the logical thing and deleting the numbers entirely; they were one more piece of proof to hold on to.
I dithered momentarily over whether my father or brother would be better to call, but quickly decided Charlie was the better option – Beau would have too many questions, and might even insist on coming along.
The number I had saved actually connected to the front desk at the station, so it was a friendly deputy who picked up. "Forks Police Department, how may I help you?"
"Hi, can I speak to Chief Swan? It's Bella."
"Oh, hey there, Bella," replied the man whose name I probably couldn't have remembered even if I'd been able to see his face. "Give me a minute, I'll grab him for you."
I only had to wait a moment before Charlie picked up the phone. "What happened?"
"Does something have to be happening for me to call you at work?" I asked, doing my best to sound nonchalant.
"Well, you've never done it before," he grumbled. "So, is everything alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I assured him. "I just needed direction to the Blacks' place. I want to drop by and see Jules, but I can't remember how to get there."
"That sounds like a great idea!" He sounded pleased, which was something. "Why don't you get your brother to take you out there? He knows the way like the back of his hand."
"He's still at work," I hedged, hoping I was telling the truth; I'd lost track of what time it was. "I don't want to bother him."
Luckily, Charlie seemed to be too happy that I was socialising without him having to issue ultimatums to notice the holes in my logic. "Sure, sure. You got a pen and paper?"
He gave me relatively simple directions, and though they started from our house, I was fairly certain I knew where I needed to go to pick up the route from here. I promised to be home before dinner and managed to successfully talk him out of coming to join me – that would scupper everything.
So I was under a time crunch as I made my way to the reservation, making me drive just a bit too fast given the rain still falling steadily. I began scheming ways to get Jules alone quickly if her mom was home; Bonnie would definitely tattle to Charlie. Not to mention that seeing Bonnie made me feel decidedly nervous. The whole situation that was so deeply painful for me probably seemed ideal to her; she'd been objecting to them ever since they'd arrived in town, and it had only got worse once Beau and I got involved. She would be nothing but glad to see me free from what she viewed as a dangerous influence, and the relief that would no doubt be on her face was likely to send me into a memory tailspin again. Even this line of thinking was on the edge of too much. If she made any kind of comment… I couldn't afford to shatter again today. I didn't have the energy left to pull myself back together even one more time.
The Blacks' little house, on the side of La Push nearer to Forks, was dimly familiar from my years of childhood visits. It was a small, single-storey building, constructed largely of wood and painted red, the colour dulled from years of weathering but still resembling a miniature barn. I saw Jules' face appear in one of the front windows before I was fully parked up, the obnoxious roar of the engine no doubt tipping her off to my arrival. She had been very pleased when Charlie had bought the truck off her mom, because it meant she didn't have to drive it once she got her licence. Apparently, the internal speed limit was a problem for her, even though it didn't bother either my brother or me in the slightest.
Jules burst out of the front door and jogged to meet me before I was halfway to the house, a wide smile on her face. The white of her teeth stood out against her deep red-brown skin, and her long black hair was like a curtain of silk; I'd never seen it down before, but it suited her.
"Bella!" she crowed excitedly, wrapping me in a tight hug. "It's been way too long, girl!"
Jules had definitely grown into her teenage self since I'd seen her last. The roundness of baby fat had well and truly melted away, leaving behind a slender face with a figure to match. There was still a cheeky edge to her smile and a sweet sparkle in her eyes, but she wasn't the same girl I had met on the beach last Spring.
"Hi, Jules," I said, reeling just a little from the sense of genuine pleasure at seeing her again. Her smile was utterly infectious, and I couldn't help returning it, remembering how much I enjoyed spending time with her, even with our relatively limited interactions. As she pulled back, I realised something else that had changed. "Did you get taller again?"
"Yeah," she chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck a bit self-consciously. "Edging up on six feet now. Mom says I'm just taking after Dad, he was pretty tall. Wish I was getting some curves with it, though. I look like a twig."
"No, you look great. The height suits you," I assured her.
"Thanks." She grinned widely again. "Come on, let's get you inside before you get any wetter."
She went ahead of me into the house, winding her hair back into a messy bun and securing it with an elastic I hadn't noticed around her wrist as she went.
"Hey, Mom!" she hollered once the door was securely shut behind us. "We've got company!"
The shouting really wasn't necessary, as Bonnie Black was sitting in the living room, barely five feet away from the door. She was reading when we came in, but set her book in her lap and rolled her wheelchair forward, her face creasing into a warm smile as she approached. I tried to keep my shoulders relaxed and not let my apprehension show on my face.
"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise? It's good to see you, Bella." She put her hand out, and I shook it; her skin was an odd mix of rough and smooth, with callouses on her fingertips and the heels of her palms. "Everything good at home, honey?"
"Yeah, I just got off work early and wanted to come spend some time with Jules. We haven't seen each other in ages."
Jules' face looked like it would split in two from smiling so widely. I half-expected her to start bouncing, but she wasn't really that sort of girl; that was more McKayla's typical behaviour.
Bonnie looked just as excited. "Planning to stick around for dinner?"
"Sorry, I have to get back and feed the boys," I said apologetically. "Beau gets antsy if he doesn't have food on his plate in time." I rolled my eyes, hoping I looked appropriately exasperated. Jules tittered, which made me pretty confident I'd got it right.
"They're more than welcome to join us too," Bonnie insisted. "Let me call Charlie."
I laughed to hide my rising panic. "Don't worry, Bonnie, I'll be back. This is just a flying visit, but there'll be time to catch up properly another night. Really, you're going to get sick of me with how much I'm over here." Because I had no way of knowing how long the repairs to the bikes would take, and then I'd have to learn to ride one too…
Mercifully, Bonnie chuckled and let it go. "Alright, maybe next time."
"So, what do you want to do?" Jules asked.
I shrugged. "I don't really mind. What were you doing before I interrupted?"
She looked a bit sheepish. "Actually, I was about to head out to the garage, but we can do something else if you want."
"No, that's perfect!" I enthused, surprisingly not having to work too hard to get my excitement up. "I'd love to see this car Beau's been telling me about for so long."
Jules looked startled. "Oh, okay. Well, come on then."
"See you later, Bonnie," I said as I followed Jules out into the backyard. Bonnie waved distractedly, already returning to her book. I let out a small, relieved sigh as we left the house – I'd survived without drawing her suspicion or getting lost in memories.
The garage turned out to be little more than a few corrugated metal sheds that had been haphazardly bolted together to expand the space. Helpfully, though, there was a good stand of thick trees between it and the house, which meant we would be nicely hidden from prying eyes once we got inside. The space was full of discarded tools and grease-covered bits of metal, not one of which I recognised. Dominating most of the floor area was a car that, to my untrained eye, looked completed and ready to drive, but for the fact that it was raised off the floor on cinderblocks. I couldn't have even guessed at the model, but I at least recognised the logo on the hood.
"What kind of Volkswagen is that?" I asked, trying to sound appropriately interested.
"A 1986 Rabbit." She gave me a cheeky grin. "What can I say? I've got a soft spot for the classics."
"It looks like it's done."
"Almost there. Just need one or two more parts after Mom made good on our deal back in the spring."
The atmosphere abruptly became awkward and Jules turned away to tidy up some of the tools. I appreciated the moment to collect myself and banish the memories of the last actual conversation I'd had with Jules – the last time Bonnie had tried to separate my brother and I from the most important people in our lives in the name of our safety. Forcing back thoughts of dancing and prom dresses, I focused back on the here and now and my quest to bring a bit more danger back into my life.
"Hey, Jules, is there a lot of difference between cars and motorcycles? Besides the obvious stuff like having half as many wheels, I mean."
She raised one shoulder noncommittally. "They're pretty different, but there's a lot of overlap too. Once you know how one works, it's easier to figure out the other one."
"Do you know how to fix up bikes?" I pressed. This wouldn't work if my expected expert didn't actually have the expertise I needed.
"My friend Embry has a dirt bike, and we work on it every now and then. I know my way around two wheels just as well as four." She gave me a suspicious look. "Why?"
I did my best to look conspiratorial. "I may have recently come into possession of a couple of bikes in need of some serious TLC, and I was wondering if you'd be able to help me out with them."
Jules' grin practically split her face in two and her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a new challenge. "Sounds awesome! I'd love to help, when can we start?"
"Hold on," I warned, holding up a hand to calm her down. "The thing is, it's got to be our secret, okay? Charlie hates motorcycles, and he would probably crucify me if he knew I'd even touched one. So no bragging, okay? And you can't ask your mom to help you with the parts again."
"Oh, totally." Jules nodded, her energy barely contained. "I've heard the bikes lecture too, don't worry. They're really not that bad once you know what you're doing."
"Of course I'll pay you for helping," I promised, mentally calculating how much I could skim off the college fund without Beau noticing.
Jules looked insulted by that suggestion. "No way, I'm not taking your money! Honestly, you're helping me, I go crazy when I don't have a project to work on."
"I can't let you do all that work for free," I argued. "They might take a lot of fixing, the girl I got them from said they haven't run in years."
She shook her head and folded her arms stubbornly. "You try to give me so much as a dollar and I will down tools, Swan."
"Okay, okay," I sighed. "How about a trade? I've got two bikes and I only need one, so you can keep the other one. I'll even let you pick."
That made her light up like a Christmas tree. "Sweet! I knew you were my favourite twin – Beau never comes up with fun ideas."
I couldn't help chuckling. "Yeah, I'm the party animal, for sure." A thought occurred that made me pause and narrow my eyes at her. "Wait, have you got your real license yet? Or are you still on that special 'early permit'?"
Jules laughed. "Nah, I'm legal. I turned sixteen a few weeks ago. You owe me a birthday present."
I had to grit my teeth just a little at the mention of birthdays. "Sorry, I didn't realise."
She waved me off. "No big deal, I totally spaced on yours, too. Hey, maybe the bikes can be our present to ourselves."
"Sounds good."
Something about Jules' easy, carefree attitude was making me feel more and more relaxed by the minute. I felt a bit like I was floating, and my senses were drifting away as well; I needed to rein it in before I did something truly stupid.
"So, when can you bring the bikes round?" Jules asked, getting us back to the important topic.
"Actually, they're out in the truck right now. Do you mind me dumping them here?"
"Where else are they going to go?" she joked, rolling her eyes. "Come on, I know a way we can take them so my mom won't see us."
We stuck to the treeline as we walked back to the front of the house, walking and chatting casually just in case Bonnie happened to glance out of the window. When we got back to the truck, Jules managed to manoeuvre both bikes down to the ground and out to where I waited in the shrubbery at the edge of their yard without any help from me at all. I was more than a little astonished to watch her move them around so easily; I knew I wasn't strong, but it made me feel decidedly wimpy until I saw the way the fabric of her t-shirt strained against her upper arms.
"Hello, biceps," I commented once we were safely out of sight. "Have you been working out or something?"
It was hard to tell through the gloomy light under the trees, but I was sure she was blushing. "Maybe just a little bit. Hauling car parts around all the time has its benefits. These aren't actually half bad."
The subject change was obvious, but I let it slide, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. Might even be worth something once we're done. This one's an old Harley Sprint."
"You can have that one," I decided, feeling that buoyant sensation again when she smiled.
"Okay, now you're definitely my favourite."
I smiled back. "Don't worry, I won't tell Beau."
She smirked, but then her face fell. "They're going to be a bit of a money pit at first, though. Saving up for the parts might take a while."
"I'm good for it," I insisted. "What's the point of a Saturday job if you don't get to spend the money on something crazy every once in a while?"
Jules gave me a sceptical look. "But aren't you saving up for, like, college and all that stuff?"
I shrugged. "I can afford to take a little off the top." It wasn't like I was actually going to end up using it; the last time I checked, Forks didn't have a university, and I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Besides, Newton's would never fund the tuition for us to go to a school that was actually impressive. If Beau had a problem with it… well, I could always remind him that there was someone more than ready to pay his full ride if that was what he wanted.
Jules didn't argue with me any further about the money. It was refreshing to have the attitude of a true teenage girl to bounce off of, especially one like Jules. She had no qualms with using my college fund to secretly rebuild a couple of death machines in her garage, and right now, that was just the foolish, freethinking sort of friend that I needed.